


You Are Now Entering The Harmonic World...

by orphan_account



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Phase Five (Gorillaz), Phase Four (Gorillaz), Phase One (Gorillaz), Phase Three (Gorillaz), Phase Two (Gorillaz), Trains, Wholesome, that gap between the phases
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2020-10-30 05:40:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20809445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: A collection of little scenes.  Each deals with a certain song by Gorillaz, and you might need to know each song before you can read the story.No archive warnings apply.  ADDITIONAL WARNINGS MAY BE PLACED IN AUTHORS' NOTES.





	1. After A Hard Day: Faust

**Author's Note:**

> For this series, I'm just writing a short little, one-chapter story for a certain Gorillaz song. It might be about how the song was made, a story where the song is performed, or something else, but you'll need to be familiar with the song itself to get the story in most cases.
> 
> This work is rated T, but not every scene will be at that level. I might post warnings before a scene depending on its content.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the UK, we have sleeper trains, which have beds inside them. They run at night, and you can get them from London to cities in Scotland or the other way round.
> 
> This scene is set in Phase 1, between the release of the Clint Eastwood single and the release of the Gorillaz self-titled album, in March 2001. It's the story of how the band created Faust, a track on the G Sides album, so knowing the track is necessary to understand this story.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Sipping a can of lager on the seated lounge car of the train, Russ somehow worked up the effort required to decide to go down to the berth carriage and check on the others.  
  
With one interview today for the _Scotsman_ newspaper - and another tomorrow for one of the music magazines in London, the NME or something – the bus wasn't an option for Gorillaz. That'd require someone to drive – no chauffeur wanted to work in the same vehicle as <strike>Murdoc</strike> Gorillaz after the 19-2000 video, where not all of Murdoc's bad driving was deliberate for the clip – and none of the bandmates were prepared to drive down the length of the country in the middle of the night. Plus Stuart didn't have his license yet.<s></s>

Noodle might, Russel considered. Of course, it wouldn't be legal, but surely she could drive if she wanted to? I mean- she _is _ten and all, but last week she fixed the fax machine. Turns out Murdoc had jammed the printer with pictures of– it doesn't matter. And Noodle had fixed it. She could probably–

The train had just slithered slowly through a vast amount of conifer woodland and was now speeding up somewhat, passing through a darkened, still landscape that began to open up palpably through the thick window. To his right Russ could spy mountains – the shadow of mountains – marked out on the horizon, with the last purplish blush of sunset lingering on their tips. The deep centre of the Highlands lay westwards. In a matter of hours, Russ would be away from this landscape. Best to take it in while he still could.

He recovered his train of thought. Anyway, yes. Noodle could do whatever she liked if she tried.

Train tickets on the sleeper were fairly pricey, so only Noodle and 2-D had bagged a sleeping berth – one of many little compartment cabins in the sleeping carriage, with two bunk beds. On the seat opposite Russel, spread out yet curled up at either end like an old fish underneath his leather jacket, Murdoc sat, stank and slept. The evening had been kinder to him than it had to Russel; and when the mottled, worn bassist closed his eyes, sleep itself had crawled upon him as a formality, and cosseted itself upon his grey t-shirt and jeans. Lying almost implausible spreadeagled on the train seat, Murdoc didn't seem to be quite human. He was either more so or less so.

Murdoc had had to learn to sleep through all kinds of noise. Russel remembered this but didn't like to think on it. When it came to his past, Murdoc seemed uncharacteristically stoic; maybe Russel respected the bassist slightly for it, as much as Murdoc's general conduct induced him to think otherwise. And Russ didn't mind his own inability to sleep. In truth, he was a little bit of a night owl, and ideas always came to him as he was preparing to bed down. This evening, however, was fruitless so far. Shaking himself out of his stupor, Russ remembered the task he'd decided he'd do, and unwillingly prised himself off of his seat, and balanced himself on his own two legs. His watch informed him of the time. It was 10:37 or so; his minute hand was a little sharp of the mark. All the same, way past Noodle's bedtime.

And Stuart's, probably.

As he blearily footed his way down the aisle - reaching onto a seat occasionally as the train rounded a corner – Russ had to admit to himself that he liked seeing Noodle sleeping away at night, tucked in bed, peaceful and serene yet thoughtful-looking. She was basically their kid after all, wasn't she, at this point? It seemed weird, but here we are. You're now in a world-famous band. And you've got a daughter. You've gone from Big Rick Black's Record Shack to the actual _charts_. Somewhere, in that shop you worked at, they're selling the Clint Eastwood single, and they're going to be dropping the album itself in a few days.

Finally Russ reached the sleeping berth where Noodle and Stuart were holed up. He pushed open the door and looked inside.

He saw Stuart on the top bunk.

But where was Noodle?

\------

Spread out on the top bunk of the bed, Stuart Pot couldn't sleep.

As much as his life had been crazy lately, Stu felt happier than he had in a while. So why couldn't he sleep? It was late, getting later. (Probably past his bedtime.) But Stu couldn't sleep. It was hard on these trains, lying down, constantly moving sideways.

Of course Paula reminded him he should be sad. She had this way of creeping into his thoughts when he least wanted it – she'd appear at random, and remind him that a part of him was somewhere else. Probably bleeding out in some gutter somewhere, that's where he'd be. But would that be any worse than here? He'd be happy – sort of. He'd be less alone and less sad.

Wait, where did he put his pills?

\------

Noodle hadn't been in the loo, or in the vestibule. Russ was beginning to feel slightly worried. The door had been open – not locked – when he'd entered the room. Could something- no, he wasn't going to go there. But where had she got to? He knew Noodle was curious – of course, she's a kid! – but it still seemed uncharacteristic of her to disappear in this way.

Russ's pace palpably quickened as he went down the train. Through the lounge car, now. Was it worth waking Murdoc? Russ considered it, but backed off when he saw Murdoc had begun to suck his thumb. Through the car, into the next carriage, the restaurant. An empty beer can fell on its side on a table as Russ rushed past it. Now Russel was at a run. And then, finally, he saw the end of the train.

Noodle was still nowhere to be seen.

Russ tore back up the train. 

When he was outside the cabin, Russ finally stopped to catch his breath, and to consider the thoughts that were beginning to well up within his head.

The first thing to do would be to tell Stuart, and ask him if he's seen anything. Then they'd have to go and have a look for Noodle again. 

And Russel was just considering what to do next when he heard somebody singing.

It was coming from the cabin.

\------

Cautiously, but hopefully, Russel stepped inside.

And then his eyes made a connection that they hadn't before.

Lying underneath her bottom bunk bed was Noodle.

She had a notebook open in front of her, and she was scribbling on it with a pencil. And she was singing some words.

"**仕事の後に, 目が覚める. 何かしなくちゃ 仕事の後に."**

**"Shigoto no ato ni, me ga sameru. Nani ka shinakucha shigoto no ato ni."**

Russel's relief was immense. The drummer leaned back on the doorframe and smiled wildly.

Lying down on his bed, 2-D heard Noodle's singing, and he was intrigued, so, when she next completed a refrain, he joined in. It was his own attempted translation; not accurate, but he hedged his bets as to whether the general theme was the same.

**"After a hard day, it's time to wake up. I need a make-up after a hard day."**

Russel sat himself down on the floor by the beds and listened.

** ** **Shigoto no ato ni, a****fter a hard day, **me ga sameru, ******a****fter a hard day, n**ani ka shinakucha, after a hard day, shigoto no ato ni, after a hard day.********************  
** **

And then Noodle found the footladder and clambered up to 2-D's bunk; and stopped singing, and listened intently, perching at the foot of his bed, watching his words.

**After a hard day, it's time to wake up. I need a make-up after a hard day.**

** **After a hard day, it's time to wake up. I need a make-up after a hard day.** **

Then the singing finished.

Noodle hummed another phrase, and then she smiled. And Russel couldn't help but smile either.

\------

The train fastened to a canter, and continued on its way towards the tired swell of London, weaving its way through the Scottish Highlands at dead of night. 

Noodle was dozing and dreaming in bed. Russel was sleeping back in the lounge car.

And Stuart was still awake. But it didn't matter. For the first time in Gorillaz, Stuart Pot truly felt like there was no place he'd rather be than here.

Taking one final look outwards into the black sea of hills and trees which ran westwards, Stu closed the blinds.

After a hard day, it's time to wake up.

But now it's time for sleep.

Stu closed his eyes, and let a contented smile unroll across his cheeks.

This was home.


	2. Crashing Down: Empire Ants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Major character death. It's somewhat temporary though.
> 
> This scene is based on Empire Ants, a song from the Plastic Beach album.  
A degree of familiarity with the song is necessary to understand the scene.  
It is set after the Rhinestone Eyes video. All four bandmates are now on Plastic Beach, and haven't yet left the Beach for the 'Books of' series which started off Phase 4.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cyborg Noodle's batteries are draining...
> 
> (Phase 3)

She was failing, and she knew it.

A cyborg can be rebuilt, and infused with the same torrid spark of life which initially brought bizarre function to its mechanical limbs, and set its brain-computer churning.  
But it still dies.

They'd recorded the final track on the album. Cyborg Noodle had been told to lay down the vocal demo, and she did it. Murdoc didn't know – he couldn't have known – that it was going to kill her.

He'd built her with limited vocal capacity, and promptly forgot about that. It was the music-making that consumed him utterly – well, that and himself. Of course Murdoc was essentially eating himself at this stage, running on fumes – pink paint fumes – and spent tobacco, which, to be fair, he was supposedly reducing.

Anyway, the exertions weakened her battery, and its ability to retain charge was harmed beyond repair. This was her last chance to see the stars.

Passing 2-D - existing as he did in a permanent state of pointed, melancholy oblivion – and Russel's sleeping toenails, Cyborg Noodle pushed through to the porthole door of the studio rear corridor, throwing aside an empty gun which she no longer needed nor desired.

Cyborg Noodle unlocked the lonely portal.

She staggered out onto the shore.

It was nighttime, and all around the tall towers of Plastic Beach lay an array of dancing colours. Purple, yellow, pink, indigo, green. Moving swathes that kept with the flow of the lapping greenish waves, that swung out of the horizon practicing their own rhythms all around her, littered with silver stars. The aurora shone over the beach in glittering ribbons, melting into the navy night.

The Southern Lights; there for her shutdown.

As Cyborg Noodle sank onto her knees, the skies were dancing yellow.

She crashed down backwards onto the shore, warm air sending sparks of sand through the gap in her head.

The pink plastic had accumulated sand in patches. Here the beach was genuine, laid over the plastic foundations, with pink blossoming over the horizon - so near, so close over the glassy sea - and spilling into the blue-black ether.

Waves closed in on the little machine.

Everything melted skyward.

* * *

Murdoc recovered the body.

It was lying by the tideline, the waves lapping over it the legs, occasionally flicking up to the face, splashing that cold metal countenance - still warm to the touch - with the salty fingers of the sea. The expression was peaceful, laid over with a smile that communicated a kind of mechanical peace.

And it was Noodle who got up, and calmly shuffled over to the fallen robot, and pulled it up by its two shoulders, staring into its spread face.

She cradled the machine, and let it go, and softly back on the sand it rested.

"ありがとう." Would Cyborg Noodle – I mean, _did_ Cyborg Noodle understand Japanese? Not sure. Could ask Murdoc, but I don't think this is the time.

"ありがとう", whispered Noodle.

"Thank you."


	3. Coloured Animals: To Binge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noodle is unsure of what will come next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, To Binge straight after Empire Ants! How weird.
> 
> This is set in the gap between Phases 2 and 3. Noodle is 16. She's left the band here; she's not in hell, despite whatever drunk Murdoc will tell, but Noodle's not sure where her future lies.
> 
> The song for this scene is To Binge. You'll need to know the track to enjoy the story.
> 
> No additional warnings apply.

Autumn is the best time to be in love.

In the evening, when the sky retreats into its dark coat, and paints the rooftops with a marine-blue wash, feeling its way into indigo and black, that singles out the amber streetlights and makes them blare brighter up on their pale posts; when it's rained all day, and now the ink skies form a fitting backdrop to the city centre, when the wet black roads are glazed by those sodium streaks of lantern, sparkling and glittering in the cold, below cinemas and windows of shops, flittering in the buzzing night with the splash of car headlights on the black streets. As darkness falls, people flow and circle; in the underpasses, by the eateries, they patter and slicken squares of paving with rain-coated shoes. You are alone, apart from these coloured animals crossing the walkways; that is, until you meet a figure by one of those streetlights, daubed in orange by its spray and swathe of liquid electricity, wrapped up in a black coat – the one who you've been longing to meet, away from the sea of humans amply smothered on the streets.

In the morning, pale and wavering, winter locking into the ground and the air, the sunshine cuts through in patches, lightening the sky blue ether without warming your chilled cheeks and lips. The onset of winter stills the air and deadens the breeze; and you are left alone with your thoughts, and they turn – by nature – to someone else, a someone else who shares your views and morals, emerging appetite for coffee, and love of deconstructing society through political songwriting.

Noodle wasn't in love.

She sometimes yearned so very much for love. A special someone to spend time with... To give her flowers. To organise rendezvouses. To make her feel like she was as super special as people said – as a person rather than a musician. She'd love to experience that rare feeling, so much, so very much.

Silently cursing herself for being rather unphilosophical, Noodle rounded the corner into the York apartment block she was stationed in, laden with a backpack (containing groceries) plus two more woven tote bags. Passing a kindly-looking elder woman (who smiled at her) and a younger man in a suit and tie (who gabbled into a mobile unresponsively), she unlocked the door of her quarters and pushed through, gripping both bags in one hand. It wasn't big by any means - and it hadn't been easy – but Noodle's celebrity dads had chipped in to help Noodle rent a small flat, which she was living out of under Russel's name. It was small – well, tiny – and Noodle had made it as homely as she could. There were posters from wall to wall; a small table with a bonsai tree and a coaster; a little kitchen counter with a fridge, freezer, dishwasher, microwave, sink, small hob, kettle and a couple of cupboards; a small bathroom; a wardrobe; a window, the sill of which was loaded with little items like badges and figures; a desk containing a PC, stationery, a sketchbook, and a giant pack of A4 paper, accompanied by an implausibly comfy-looking cushioned swivel chair; a bookshelf and her bed, set below the window. And her favourite teddy bear, whom she still slept with all these years later. There was a suitcase containing more clutter under the bed, a walk-in cupboard containing two more chairs plus an ironing board and vacuum cleaner; and, in a corner of the room, two of her guitars; one classical (for practicing fretting) and one electric (with amp). That was it.

And she was free.

In theory.

Having unpacked her shopping, Noodle collapsed onto her bed, and heaved out a deep sigh. Here she was – only 16 – without any idea of what would come next; constantly yearning for something new. Noodle enjoyed the independence, it was true – and she loved York as a city – but she was alone out here; sometimes more alone than the word suggested. And out of ideas. She considered unsheathing her iPod from her pocket, but lacked the resolve.

Like Noodle had wanted, she was out of Gorillaz. El Mañana had happened and Russel and Murdoc had bluffed their way through interviews pretending that they were clueless and disoriented. 2-D didn't need to _pretend_ to be those things at the best of times; however, he too understood the deal. Now, Noodle was on her own. She still talked to Russel on the phone, but that was it, pretty much. The final item in her apartment was a weighty photo album tucked under her mattress. Noodle resisted the urge to leaf through it. At the present moment, 2-D, Murdoc and Russel were hunkered down on Plastic Beach, an island in the middle of the Pacific, recording a new album. Murdoc had invited Noodle to return to the band; and maybe feature in some of their music videos if she wanted the chance. It wasn't an opportunity she was dying to accept. Not after last time... Not after last time. Noodle missed Russel actively, 2-D passively, and Murdoc aggressively. Life on tour had been stressful, but also amazing; and, bit by bit, the realisation dawned on her that she knew what decision she was going to make.

_Of course._

_Of course I'm joining back with them._

_Always, always...why must I find excuses to go along with Gorillaz? Hell, what even keeps me in the band?_

_I'm caught again, in the mystery-_

Having prised herself off of her bed to make a cup of tea, a tune entered her head, and, after swirling about for a little, formed itself into a melody that Noodle could drum along to on the counter. It lilted and plodded along, and suddenly the guitarist had a concept of the song she was going to make – the song, because now that was what it was going to be. _Finally: an idea worth keeping._

_Perhaps this rough-edged diamond could be fashioned into a demo worth sending off to 2-D. See if he approves! And then...and then maybe Murdoc will like it. It needs work, but this could be a good song. What if we could get someone to fill in the vocals?_  
  
_Wait, "we"?_

We.

She'd be seeing Russel again, who she was realising she really _did_ miss. Calling her wasn't enough; she wanted him to be with her, not just inside her pocket in her contacts.

After a pause, Noodle half-sang, half-spoke a little line. "You're by my side – but are you still with me?"  
  
It turned to hums. 

_That can be the basis of the song lyrically._

__And, yes, she wanted to see Russ again. Maybe that was as good an excuse as any to regroup.

The yearnings of the future had passed, for worse or for better.

The now looked much more attractive.

Gazing down on the old British city from her high window, Noodle sipped her tea, and didn't fight the blushing smile unrolling between her cheeks.


	4. Can't Stand: Slow Country

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phase 4. Inspired by the track Slow Country from the Gorillaz album 'Gorillaz'.
> 
> Stu's having a less pleasant evening experience – but solace arises from an unexpected source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a curveball: a scene inspired by a Phase 1 song set in Phase 4. This one is based on Slow Country, so knowing the song is needed to enjoy the story. Enjoy!

Midnight, or vaguely after.  
  
Stuart Pot is pacing the streets of London, trying to work out what his torrid head is thinking.  
  
It's Wednesday the somethingth of October – now Thursday. He's already cleaned his way through _13_ and _Think Tank_ by Blur; now he's blearily, drunkenly footing his way down the Strand, the late-night buses and juddering thick flow of cars blazing in his ears.  
  
The lights have closed in on Stu now. There is no night sky; there are no stars; only an eerie, filmy slate mass that almost curls up at the edges. _Starshine. Never gonna find me_, thinks Stu. _Hang on, didn't I do a song like that? What a poet._  
  
_Speaking of which, enough of this bollocks. Let's have some of my stuff on_. He daubs his fingers over his mobile and somehow unlocks the right key sequence.

> City life.
> 
> Calling me all the time.
> 
> Me and my soul geared to attack.
> 
> Never get another chance,
> 
> So what you doing?
> 
> Gotta get money;
> 
> Can't quite do it.
> 
> Can't stand your loneliness.  
Can't stand your loneliness.  
Can't stand your loneliness.  
Can't stand your loneliness.

_Can't stand this song._

Stu's eyes had healed up some time ago, when they were promoting _G Sides_, and the blood had reabsorbed. Since then he'd worn black contacts to keep up the illusion, sometimes switching to white. His sight was fine. Hardly amazing, but fine. 

Without the contacts, he is no longer 2-D.

He is Stuart Pot; and with his cyan hair pushed back into a red beanie, guitar-worn hands shoved messily into the pockets of his leather jacket, and swaggering stage posture stifled, nobody would think any different. 

The breeze is picking up.

> Shit night life...

Murdoc is still in the club. Stu left Russel and Noodle at a table; she'd slipped him a look as he left; lips set in a slight smile, eyes expressing somewhat stifled concern. He wondered how she managed all of this identity stuff. _She didn't even know her own name_.

_Wait, she did_.

_She found out when she remembered everything_.

Everyone knew Stu's real name. It was on his Wikipedia article, along with "fucking smug wanker" (cheers, Murdoc). He guessed that maybe Noodle just preferred being Noodle now. _It's who she is._

Then_ who am I? I don't have another identity like her. I'm 2-D the singer and that's all I am to most people._

His thoughts are interrupted by the looming premonition of Murdoc, out to sample the local exhaust fumes. "All right Toodie. Going to find a dustbin to sleep in?" Murdoc chuckles, but his harsh, heterochromatic eyes still betray a kind of keenness for communication that disturbs the lanky singer; somewhat devoid of malevolence.

"Nah, I'm just kind of out to– get some air."  
  
"Oh, well what's all that about then?" Murdoc seems strangely sincere. Then he buckles. "I mean, I don't get all this 'fresh air' bollocks. Air has no flavour! You'd be better off sticking a joint in your mouth. That sorts it right out."

He's nonplussed. "Sorts what out?"  
  
"You know, um" – a rare 'um' – "a bit of thunder in the old' truffle hunter."  
  
"That sounds like a dick joke."  
  
"It's not."  
  
Muds hands 2-D his bottle.

"Cheers." Stuart takes a swig.

"No problem." The bassist allows his bottom lip to hand slightly. "Ciggie?"  
  
"Sorry Murdoc. I'm trying to cut down."

The use of his name deadens any disquiet 2-D's refusal might have caused. It slightly surprises Murdoc to hear it being referred to. Noodle uses it questioningly and Russel reproachfully; 2-D barely used it all.

He nods cursory acknowledgment. "I've not really tried at it. But you can't talk to anyone without offering them a cig." Aldwych takes them both somewhat by surprise.

They turn around now, Stu's mood a little lightened by the uneasy company.

"What's your favourite track on the new album?"  
  
"Eeh, I dunno 2-D...good, good question though. Oh, I'll say Sex Murder Party. Or maybe Charger."  
  
A pause.

"You?"  
  
Stu's taken aback by Murdoc's desire to respond in kind. "Oh um um She's My Collar."  
  
A pause. Murdoc see's 2-D's eyes light up and a grin broaden his face.

"Or Ascension."

Murdoc drunkenly clatters into 2-D. "I LOVE Ascension! THE SKY'S FALLING BABY DROP THAT ASS 'FORE IT CRASH-"

2-D joins in. "THE SKY'S FALLING BABY DROP THAT ASS 'FORE IT CRASH-"

And they head back to the club. They don't care about the looks they receive as they stagger back down the pavement and sidefoot back into the club while flashing passes and yawping the lyrics to their new opener. _From now on, fuck the introspection_, thinks Stu. 

_Never mind loneliness. We're gonna party until _we_ can't stand._


	5. Feel Good: Feel Good Inc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rambling conversation set in Phase 5. References several songs by Gorillaz.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit different to the other stories in this series; Feel Good Inc. provides the original basis for the scene, but multiple songs are mentioned. Knowing them in detail really ISN'T needed at all as their content isn't dived into. It's just a conversation between Noodle, Russel and 2-D, set in Phase 5. Enjoy!

"So here's a question". Russel kept his eyes forward as he and his young friend – some might say adopted daughter – ambled along the pavement. November had come, and it was a crisp, blue morning, cool and thin. December was beginning to appear as a wrinkle on the horizon, brimming with tinsel and red fairy lights, but Noodle and Russ were content to take the day at a pace of their own, and worry about the inevitable festive hoo-ha a couple of weeks closer to the 25th.

"The other day, I was reading an article about fat-shaming, and it made me ask this: are social issues promoted in order to improve our society, or is it the work of capitalism keeping us involved and consuming?"

Noodle considered her response. She knew it was a rhetorical question – Russ's optimism only bloomed in spite of his cynicism, and he'd almost certainly say the latter – but her reply had to have more to it than that. Then she found something to hit upon.

"Surely 'capitalism' as an entity doesn't exist. There's only firms and consumers."  
  
"Go on."  
  
"The answer is yes, to both of those points. Except swap out 'capitalism' with 'capitalist forces'. We only have companies and people to buy their products, and discussion of social problems presents those companies with an opportunity to sell, which, being capitalists, they...capitalise on." She let out an awkward little half-laugh half-exhalation at the unintentional pun. "They're opportunistic. So it's somewhat self-promoting, only we ignore it because of the societal impact, and the fact that we believe that something like fat-shaming is wrong. We buy products and that's it. Transaction complete." 

He let out a wide grin and ruffled her hair. "Good job I've always got you to keep me on my toes. I think you're right, too. Only it's more nefarious than that."

"Yeah." Should she attempt the joke? Yes. "Still, consume our products, and you'll feel good. Inc." Russ couldn't help but be amused, and let out a chuckle. "God, that was _painful_. One of your best tracks, though. How did you write something like _that_?"

"It just kinda came out."

"It's amazing! _Such_ a good tune."

"Awh, thanks Russ." She couldn't help but envelop him in a hug, and he laughed a little.

"Whassat about Feel Good Inc?" 2-D had fallen out of step behind them quite a while ago, and for a minute they'd forgotten he was there. Sometimes that happened.

"We're just talking about how Noods wrote the song" was Russ's reply.

"I love that track."

"Aw, 2-D. Come here."

She gave him a hug too.

"You're in a good mood today, Noods." Russ smiled in a way that would be fatherly if his bandmates weren't keeping him slightly young. Being with them had taken the edge off the past decade, so much that he could easily pass for being in his 30s.

"I am! I don't know why, though. I just woke up feeling good."

She paused.

"Inc."

There was another, longer pause as Russ and Noodle nearly collapsed in laughter at the repeated joke. 2-D stared as blankly as you would imagine someone would stare with white contact lenses. Then the two straightened up, and 2-D inserted himself between the two of them as they walked.

"Whass your favourite Gorillaz track?"  
  
Russ barely paused. "Dirty Harry. Or maybe Rock the House if you're talking one that we did ourselves, Del and I."

"And you?"

Noodle weighed up the question like she was turning over a sweet with her tongue. Then she spoke up.

"Demon Days."

"With the choir?"

"Yeah. I love it. When I worked on the album I think I saved the best until last, if that makes sense."

"I get you. And I adore Demon Days." Russ had a semblance of how much Noodle loved the track. She was disarmingly modest about Demon Days the album in general, and the songs on it. Whenever the final, title track was mentioned, however, she went quiet and smiled a little.

"Oh, I also love Hong Kong! And Magic City."

"Why thank you." 2-D jokingly attempted bashfulness. 

"And M1 A1", she continued. "And Re-Hash, and Dirty Harry, and M1 A1. And...all of our songs, to be honest."

"Even Seattle Yodel?" 2-D grinned toothily.

"Yes! Not even Seattle Yodel."

Russel affected serious disapproval well. "No, don't criticise Seattle Yodel!" He looked hurt. "It's my favourite track."

She played along willingly. "Oh, I'm sorry Russel."

"It's so moving, so delicate and beautiful. When I first heard that shit, I cried for thirteen straight hours. It's beautiful, man. I'm tearing up just thinking about it."

Noodle laughed, and then turned round to look at 2-D, who was giving his best impression of being utterly confused. Then she realised that he _was_ utterly confused. It took another twelve seconds or so for him to warm up and realise that Russel was joking along. He giggled. "Oi, don't diss Seattle Yodel! I put my heart and soul into that track."

Russ hesitated, and smiled, looking ahead again. Then he spoke:

"I appreciate the nuances of your outlook."

"You what?" Noodle also wondered what Russ meant by this, but silently.

He clarified. "It's something that...Del used to say. When he disagreed with someone – in particular, when he thought they were talking bollocks," – 2-D let out another giggle at Russ's deliberate, incongruous British – "he'd say that. I appreciate the nuances of your outlook. It basically means: you're an idiot."

"Ah." Then it dawned on 2-D. "Oi!"

Noodle laughed again. "I'll remember that one. Thanks Russ."

"No problem."

The train station was coming into view. 

"So..." Russ restarted conversation. "What's your favourite Murdoc track?"

"On Melancholy Hill."

"Same."

"Mine too," the percussionist responded. "Easily his best." Then he paused. 

"I also like Murdoc Is God, though."

Noodle licked her top lip, and smiled devilishly. "I appreciate the nuances of your outlook."

In consequence, Russ's white eyeballs nearly popped out of his very skull. He puckered out his lips in mock horror. "OH SHIT!" 

Noodle laughed and leaned into him. "It's not a bad track", she explained. "It's just also obviously an ego stroke."

"You're right, of course. But I guess that's the main thing with Murdoc: you have to take his ego into account with his music."

Another little break.

"He's building himself back up again."

There was a gap in the talking as 2-D and Noodle found themselves "inexplicably drawn", as Noodle put it, to the coffee shop inside the station. Russ was glad of the opportunity to partake in espresso, never mind how chalky; and he also bought a muffin. Then Noodle, with her own purchases, popped up beside him.

"Charger too! That's another great track."  
  
"A-cha-charger", Russ murmured, consulting the departures board. "And then I forget the rest of the lyrics. I swear I still don't know what he's saying to this day."

"Ah, I can clarify that. It's: a-cha-charger, everything is out to get you. I just don't know where I'm a-getting it from... At least, I think it's that."

"Must be", Russel replied, "cheers."

"No worries." Then she paused. "Waiting by the mailbox, for the train..."

"Isn't it 'by the train'?"

"Is it?"

"I think so."

"Is it _actually_?"

"Well, you should know! It's your demo."

"It might have been changed by Murdoc, though."

"Maybe."

Russel sipped his coffee.

"Stupid plastic lids."

"Yeah, it's such a waste. If you're drinking coffee, odds on you're old enough not to need a lid on your drink. I suppose now capitalism demands we produce them, though."

"Wouldn't that be capitalist _forces_ rather than capitalism?" A slow grin spread across his face, and Noodle pushed into him; wholly affectionately and innocently, but taking the still-tired Russ by surprise slightly, so that he was forced to shift his weight from one leg to the other.

He let out a twinkling smile. 

"I guess you're why I needed a lid."


	6. To The Sun: Demon Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by my favourite song: Demon Days. 
> 
> Set in Phase 2. The band return home from Manchester after Demon Days Live.
> 
> Merry Christmas. :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not strictly relevant to the festive season, but whatever. This is my way of thanking Noodle, Murdoc, Russel, 2-D, Damon, Jamie and the Gorillaz family. Happy Christmas (メリークリスマス) ! 
> 
> "...the sheer joy of being where I am right now. I couldn't imagine a better life than being Noodle, guitar player of Gorillaz. It is truly a wonderful gift." – Noodle, 2006

The November lights flashed in the glassy black sky as the Gorillaz tour bus turned off the A12.

Nearly home.

For Noodle, the advent of the familiar swathes of Essex, with its bland land and grey towns rendered as patches of shadow stretching away from the main road, was not welcome. It was all over, of course; soon Noodle would be in bed and the whole adventure would be done.

Demon Days Live. What an experience that had been. As much as Gorillaz had put out a new album of their own, there was never anything but certainty that it was Noodle's. It had been her moment. She had taken the limelight and thrived with it, and learned that she herself had much to say - and could say it so articulately, too. And people valued it. It had never been much her intention to become the star, and she would hate to belittle her bandmates – but she, Noodle, was the star of Gorillaz. The success was hers; and hers to enjoy, to relish, to immerse herself in. She had made a legendary album. Noodle didn't see it that way, of course. But the music would speak for itself. And that was what she loved: the music. What they - no, she - had created; and performed to audiences who loved it nearly as much as she had. Well, no; not _that_ much, Noodle had made the project and had more fondness for it than any of its fans; but they really did love it. And Noodle loved performing the songs; and seeing the looks on people's faces; hearing them sing along, watching them dance, the banners, the spectacle that the audience provided; the feeling of mutual love for this thing, shared politics and ideals, and strangers who wanted to see _her _perform – and listen to what she had to say. To feel listened to, to feel valued, to feel esteemed and wanted; Noodle could hardly ask for more. The experience had been electric.

And the songs! Noodle adored performing them, because she'd grown familiar with her creations; she felt proud of them, and couldn't help but blush at times. Last Living Souls, Kids With Guns, Feel Good Inc, El Mañana, DARE...the cheers and whoops the audience gave during DARE, when the 13 year-old gingerly took over the microphone, had made her giggle and laugh onstage – and smile with pure joy. Playing the tunes on guitar was a wonderful thing to do. The pre-show anticipation was brilliant. The post-show atmosphere was so joyous and so fun, and never, never dull. And, on one night, a boy had met her by the stage door and given her a bouquet of flowers! They were orchids. It was a gesture that made Noodle's heart swim to remember; that she, as a teenager, could be valued in this way too.

She felt a tear run down her right cheek.

"Hey, could somebody get the gates please?" Russel had drawn the tourbus up to the entrance of Kong Studios.

"I'll go." Noodle unbuckled her seatbelt and bounced out of the bus. The code would have worked, but instead she took a key out of her sock, and the gates swung open.  
  
"Thanks, Noods."

A pause.

"I'll walk up."

As Russel drove off, Noodle closed the gates behind her. Then a pause, before she clambered up to the top and found a place to seat herself on the top, and stared out into the land below her.

_It's nice here at night. It reminds me of when Gorillaz-_

Suddenly, more tears came.

Noodle smiled and cried, and smiled and cried.

The whole thing had just been so lovely! And now it was done, and she didn't know what was coming next.

She wiped her eyes. As much as she felt slightly ashamed of her uncontrolled feelings, it felt nice to sit her in the nighttime, and gaze out and yearn for something, even if she wasn't clear what.

The stars laid above her - _the traditional territory of the romantics, the dreamers _– and she felt obliged to look up above her.

It was beautiful.

All around her, white lights danced and twinkled, in their intricate little patterns, slight different colours, and varied brightnesses. They seemed characterful and alive. And benevolent; up there, on their own. It felt almost as if they were out that night for Noodle alone.

She would hate to grow older and leave these teenage days behind. But to become an adult would allow her to do things – she wondered what? – to change the world, if she could. But now? The butterflies in the stomach, the wistful yearning...these were emotions worth remembering.

She slipped her earbuds into her ears and selected a song: Demon Days.

Her favourite from the album.

And, for this situation, perfect.

She pressed play.

The violins.

The string section summed it all up for her. Then the fuzz and anticipatory buzz filled her ears as 2-D's falsetto played over the top.

The ticking, the strings – still there...

Then her guitar.

When Russel started playing his drums, she burst out into a smile so genuine and joyful that she beamed up at the night above her.

Then the swoony choir. 

Noodle edged herself up on the gate and looked into the landscape, and discerned towns, houses, a river, fields, trees...the world.

"Turn yourself around!"

She prepared to jump off the gate, and landed delicately on the grass.

Walking up the path, to the Noodle couldn't help but look back at the world below her.

She felt alive. And when she pushed open the door – and Russel, 2-D and Murdoc were there, as ever – she giggled and laughed and beamed again.

And then she turned around, and sat on the doorstep, resting her chin on her hand, and stared out into the stars one final time. "TO THE-"  
She smiled at them warmly, bidding them goodnight; and turned inside. 

Russel had potted her flowers; Noodle carried them into her bedroom, set them down, and remembered everything that had happened those last few days; and smiled to herself one more time.

Time for bed.


	7. Like Rhinestones: Rhinestone Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An encounter. Phase 3.
> 
> The story behind the album.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No archive warnings apply.

**Like Rhinestones**

Little lady  
She's a girl, so young

Seventeen and scared.  
Remember when

You danced into the night  
and laughed and sang?

You were so young and joyful,  
what occurred

To make you hide  
your smile behind a mask?

Those years ago,  
I failed. I failed my girl.

But, love, you  
were my darling daughter then,

And I a bent and  
bloody-knuckled father,

Broke your brother  
broke your friends, your soul

But please tell me I haven't broken you?

I need you here  
but are you still with me?  
  
There's nothing I can say,  
my little dream,

my medicine. Your eyes –   
glassy, like rhinestones.

My world seems open,  
bottomless without  
  
My Noodle.  
Love, I wrote it all for you.


End file.
